TITLE: Pained Pest
AUTHOR: Anansay
SUMMARY: A small side-trip becomes much more when it's Sara and Grissom.
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Response to an Unbound Challenge. First and last lines (in bold) are
given, we have to fill it in with some semblance of a story. Word
limit: 1,000.
Pained Pest
by Anansay
September 27, 2004
Sitting in the emergency room lobby, Sara could sense a distinct shift in her relationship with her supervisor. It was a sudden sensation, much like the tilting of the axis of the entire planet. And it wasn't subtle, either.
It happened when his hand reached over and grabbed hers. But that wasn't the deciding moment. Because after that, it only got harder—his grip that is. In a moment, if he didn't cease the tightening vise-like grip, Sara would have no choice but to cry out and quite possibly put an end to this sudden display of aberrant amorous behavior on Grissom's part.
"It's okay Grissom. It'll be fine."
"Sara, I hate dentists," he said through gritted teeth.
"Grissom, everybody hates dentists."
"Yeah, but—
"No buts, you need to get this done."
"No, you don't understand—
"Grissom, I've had enough of putting up with your constant whining and biting off of people's heads. Now, you're going to go in there and you're going to get your tooth drilled—"
"—ooh!—"
"—and then things can get back to normal."
"No."
Sara turned to him. "Are you pouting Grissom? Did you just say you weren't going to get this fixed?"
"That's right. I'm not." His hand let go of hers and before Sara knew it, Grissom was (practically) sprinting across the room towards the door. Of course, it was only made funnier by the comical way he sorta lumbered, one foot sloppier than the other, one hand desperately clutching his face, and faint groaning noises following behind him.
Apparently the drugs were taking effect.
Sara dashed after him. "Grissom, you can't—"
But she was too late, he was already out the door and half way down the stairs. As she came careening around the corner, she managed to catch the last bit of Grissom's coat, as he stumbled down the last three steps. And landed in a rather ungainly sprawl at the bottom—still clutching his face and still groaning. Only this time it had taken on a different tone, multiple tones that is.
Sara sighed and went to him, extending a hand and doing her best to hide her grin—and her laughter. Grissom was peering up at her through half-lidded eyes, with eyeballs that couldn't seem to decide which Sara to focus on.
"What happened?" he mumbled as he tried to roll over—and into the wall.
Sara grabbed his arm and pulled him over. "You fell. You ran away and you fell. Good for you."
He groaned as she pulled him to a standing position, and promptly leaned heavily on her frail frame. "Take pity on me, please."
"No pity for grown men, Grissom. Get a grip—"
"I'm trying," he said, swinging his arm over her shoulder, apparently going for a particular busty protrusion on her Sara's chest.
She slapped his hand away. "Not that kind, Grissom. Now, you are going to the dentist. You are getting that tooth looked at and then you are going home. No more biting people's heads off—" she slapped his hand again, "—and no more grabbing!"
Grissom stumbled up the stairs hanging onto Sara and they tumbled through the door to the waiting room, shocking the handful of people waiting there. Some of them scowled at them, others hid their own grins. Imagine, a grown man whining about seeing a dentist.
"Grissom, you're setting a bad example in front of the kids."
"We have kids?" He spun his head around toward Sara. Bad move, his eyes became vacant and then something worse happened—his mouth dropped, and Sara could distinctly feel his stomach lurching. "Oh god," she heard him say before she spun them around—another bad move—and rushed them toward the bathroom.
They barely made it before Grissom fell to the bowl and his head disappeared among the hollow sounds of his lurching stomach. Sara leaned against the sink and prayed to whatever deity that existed that nothing more would happen. A sudden, quite awful, thought occurred to Sara.
"Grissom," she said, getting some paper towels and wetting them, "you aren't by any chance allergic to freezing are you?"
He lifted his head from the bowl and allowed Sara to wipe his face before answering. "Freezing? What freezing?"
Sara stared at him. "You did know that drank they gave you was the freezing right?"
Grissom stared at Sara. "No."
She nodded her head very slowly. "Grissom, do you normally just drink whatever people offer you?"
"Um, no," he began gulping convulsively and nearly missed the bowl—again—as more of the liquid regurgitated itself.
Sara sighed, and waited. Soon enough, all the liquid had been released from Grissom's body and he sagged against the cool porcelain, his face squished up like a dried prune.
"We have to get you home. There is no way you'll be able to get that tooth fixed today. I can't believe this—a grown man unable to get himself to a dentist without some big commotion." Once again, she hoisted him up and dragged his weak body out in the waiting room, and promptly dropped him into a seat. He landed rather ungracefully, but Sara left him there anyway and went to the desk, and explained the situation. Both she and the receptionist rolled their eyes. It was unanimous—Grissom was an idiot.
"C'mon," Sara said to him, let's go home, Grissom."
THE END